Sincerely Hope It's You
by hopelessromantic549
Summary: He realizes he was wrong for thinking they weren’t compatible, wrong for arguing that he would know if she loved him. She’s mysterious, yes – ethereal and unattainable and just incandescent – but she’s HIS mystery. Tag for Dwarf in the Dirt.


**A/N: ****Last night's episode left me hopelessly giddy. Consequently, this just **_**begged**_** to be written. Enjoy!**

**Title from a song by Edith Backlund.**

She gives him a casual, unassuming thumbs up when she sees that he hit the mark nearly every time. He doesn't smile, not really. He just nods, soft and comfortable, because Gordon-Gordon was right, more right than he knew.

This whole problem of marksmanship had nothing to do with his brain surgery and everything to do with his need to protect her from the world's horrors. He's seen more cruelty and death than he cares to remember, and he doesn't want her to ever feel the kind of pain he's felt.

And so…_of course_. Of course he can't miss when she's watching. He's afraid to miss. Because missing would mean he failed to save her.

And he cares too much for that.

When he puts his gun down, she strides over to him, beautiful and strong. She smiles as she approaches, arms outstretched so naturally that he wonders if she dreams of moments like these.

But he has no time to wonder what she's thinking, because she envelops him in a scorching hug, all promises and desire and pride. He feels her warmth seep into him, calm and gentle, and he sighs in relief.

"I knew you could do it," she breathes into his ear, not a note of doubt lingering in the dulcet tones of her voice. She sounds so sure of him that he falls just a little bit more, and when they break apart, he's in such awe that he can only bring himself to ask her the same question he's been asking for the past four years.

"Breakfast?"

She nods – when has she ever said no? – but doesn't remove her hands from their position around his neck. They stand like that for a moment, ignoring the shrill wolf whistles around them, ignoring the stale air and the sounds of gun shots reverbating off the harsh walls.

She has a strange expression on her face, he thinks. But he doesn't overanalzye it. He just pulls her toward her, slinking his arm around her shoulder, and walks her to his car.

The ride is silent, peaceful. Everything feels all right now, even though it's not. Even though he has yet to tell her he loves her – he does, he really does. Even though she has yet to admit it – any of it – to herself.

Even though they're not together.

They will be someday, they know they will. And maybe that's enough.

Maybe that's enough for now.

But he breaks the silence once they are sitting at the table, menus in hand. He has seen her smile too many times, has seen her laugh, the delicious, pale curve of her neck exposed and pulsing in the light, too many times. He just can't wait any longer. He can't let this moment pass him by.

He leans across the table, whispering, his breath lingering on her nose, her lips, the soft skin of her throat, "Thanks, Bones."

"For what?"

She sounds genuinely curious, that familiar furrow in her brow appearing, and he can't help but chuckle. He realizes he was wrong for thinking they weren't compatible, wrong for arguing that he would know if she loved him. She's mysterious, yes – ethereal and unattainable and just incandescent – but she's _his_ mystery.

"For making an effort." He says it languidly, like it's not a big deal. But there's distinct appreciation in those brown eyes of his, and she sighs contentedly and nods. She's glad he obtained his recertification (it holds no meaning for her, but it matters to him). He deserves to be happy.

"Any time," she replies, not bothering to ask why he hasn't sat back in his chair yet. She finds she likes this proximity, and she realizes she's not lying. She will be here for him no matter what happens, no matter where she is, no matter the circumstances. She said it to Gordon-Gordon, and she meant it.

There's nothing she wouldn't do for Booth.

Booth doesn't lean back. He usually does in moments like these – when he told her she was structured very well, when he told her he knew she wouldn't give up, when he told her making love was when two people became one – but this time, he leans forward, bridging what little distance still remains between them.

"Bones," he breathes, and suddenly she knows what's going to happen next. And she's not afraid of it.

Maybe she was, once. But now, now…now, she just wants him to understand how much she cares about him.

"Yes?" She's not fully aware that the word has left her mouth, and he smiles faintly. But he looks more nervous than anything else.

She catches the affection in his eyes, lets herself sink into the brown depths she holds so dear. She forces herself to look at him, because just this once, she won't let her fear of being vulnerable prevent their coming together.

"I – " he begins, uncertain and insecure. He shakes his head.

She waits.

He doesn't wait for her to finish his sentence (even though she always does). He simply takes a deep breath, shoulders heaving, releasing years of suppressed emotion.

And he presses his lips to hers, hard and soft all at once, possessive and tentative, lustful and sensual. She doesn't draw back, doesn't let out a whimper of surprise. Doesn't stop him.

She sighs into him, melting and falling until the only word she can possibly form is his first name, a name she hardly ever says but nonetheless feels infinitely familiar.

This feels so very right. And somehow, despite the many years they've spent tiptoeing around their mutual attraction, this doesn't feel anticlimactic.

It just feels like coming home.

At last, they break apart, sheepish and glorious.

There's no break, no falter. She just smiles, a rose blush flooding her cheeks, and nods.

"Okay."

He laughs.

_fin_


End file.
